Person of Faith
The voice whispers to
me, all I’m used to is a whisper:
Do
you believe?
Believe like the
whisper I heard in the woods when I was a child, wind through trees, twitter of
insects. I am emic and etic at the same
time, a dynamic of tension. I belong
here in this Kingdom and yet I don’t.
Believe like the
abandoned church in the woods, composed of broken wood, an empty pulpit, a
silent congregation, and leaf-strewn pews.
It was a place I wanted to reside in.
Believe like the plush
smell of the new church down the road, complete with inside baptistery so we don’t have to go
down to the creek anymore, pressing my face to the soft floor.
Believe like a circle
of lights in the sky over a praying family or the story of a prophet in the Old
Testament. Or the truth behind the
story, the reality of the dusty ground, the trial and the error, the pain of
trying to listen to the sky, ear straining.
I will never stop
believing.
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from Red Dashboard.
A fine faith poem with philosophy and epiphanies.
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